


Running Circles

by orphan_account



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, Time Loop, Tragic Romance, True Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-01
Updated: 2014-01-01
Packaged: 2018-01-07 00:54:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1113557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry lives the same damned month of his life over and over again, and doesn’t get it right a single time. “You said you’d felt as if we’d met before and we have; countless times, without end or beginning. I don’t even remember the first time I saw you, but it must have been something marvellous, because my heart still skips a beat every January you walk through the front door.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Running Circles

He wakes, shirt soaked with his own cold sweat. He doesn’t need a calendar to know the date, because it’s the1st day of January, it’s snowing, and that’s the way it always has been (and always will be). He rolls over, yanking his sticky shirt off in disgust and tossing it. Louis has flooded his phone, and the day hasn’t even started yet.

6:00AM: Harreeeh, I may or may not have left my lucky blue scarf on the kitchen counter.  
6:01AM: And you know I have to get Liam’s number.  
6:04AM: Repllyyy. How can I look sexy without that scarf?!

He burns his eggs (doesn’t he every time?) and forgets Louis’ confounded scarf, because a bigger picture is wreaking havoc in his head. And Harry’s so sure that this time it’ll be different, this whole month will be different. As he steps into the warm cafe that’s already bustling with early-risers, Louis jumps on him, wailing.

“Harry, you cock, where the fuck is my scarf! Liam’s going to be here in less than ten minutes and you know I can’t seduce a man without that scarf! It brings out my eyes, goddammit Harry you owe me big time…”

The customers give them a brief glance but they’re so used to Louis’ noisy (endearing he insists) antics that they just brush it off with a turn of their newspapers.

Harry grins and tunes out Louis’ complaining, tying an apron on and rinsing his work-calloused hands. He’s anxious as he ever was, because Harry knows in five minutes will come the meeting that irrevocably changes his life. Louis shoves him at the counter with a snarled ‘you owe me!’, and retreats to the backroom. Harry nervously taps in orders and just on the tick of the second, the glass doors open with a ‘whoosh!’, bringing with it a whirlwind of snowflakes which has Nick grumbling on sweep duty. Liam Payne walks in, eyes crinkling with laughter as he adjusts his scarf but Harry’s got no eyes for him, none at all. Because behind Liam walks the young man Harry’s fallen in love with so many times he’s lost count, yet theoretically, this is their first encounter.

Nonetheless Niall Horan, in all his perfection, never fails to take his breath away. He’s all blue eyes, red lips and white-blonde hair to the roots, and seeing him alive, breathing and so carefree is like a punch to Harry’s chest.

He’s swaddled in a thick beige knitted scarf, snowflakes caught in the golden locks of his hair, smiling and gorgeous. Yet despite the tight navy button-up he’s wearing and the black jeans that cling, Harry falls in love with his eyes first (he always has). And there’s this darned lump in his throat because this is the month. Through his laughs Liam suggests they find a seat first and as predicted, they take the sofa table right in the corner. Harry’s eyes follow like a hawk’s, and he’s quite conscious of Louis doing the same. Quite a pathetic pair, they are. He’s broken out of his reverie as Louis frantically whispers in his ear.

“Holy shit, Jesus take the wheel, my man is here and I haven’t got my scarf. You remember last time I wore that scarf and we brushed fingers over the counter? That is no accident, I say! It’s the scarf! Now how’s my hair?”

“Fine Lou, relax,” Harry says good naturedly. “Just don’t do that thing where you raise your voice an octave when you’re nervous; big turn-off.”

“What thing?” Louis shrills in return, and Harry rolls his eyes. Suddenly Louis pauses and licks his lips. “Huh, will you look at that, Liam’s brought a cute friend. I’d dig that if I weren’t so into Liam. Crap what if Liam would dig cute, cuddly blondes too? They’re together, aren’t they?”

Harry sighs with a discrete smile because he knows Liam is definitely not dating Niall but he can’t reveal what he’s not supposed to know. Louis’ voice is continuing to climb in pitch and Harry has to slap a hand over his mouth before they both get fired once and for all. With a meaningful look he shoves a notepad and pen into Louis’ chest and ruffles his cinnamon hair up one last time. He pushes him out from the counter before Louis even has time to protest.

Nick has taken over the counter in their long absence (‘I can’t believe he hasn’t fired you both. You’re lucky Paul loves you.’) and Harry opts to fiddling with the coffee machine, staring unabashedly at Niall who’s rubbing his hands together fast from the chill.

Harry knows that in the next thirty minutes Liam would have fallen so deeply in love with Louis that by the time Niall snaps him out of it, his hair would be damp from snow he’d forgotten to shake off.

But Harry says nothing at all, only smiles into his palm as Liam turns a bright red when Louis all but screams out “You can’t date him, ‘cause I might not be blonde but you just can’t date him when I saw you first!”. He looks about ten seconds from stomping his foot on the ground like the five year old child he really is. Niall looks on bemused as Louis goes red down to his cocoa-dusted apron and covers his face gingerly with his notepad. He’s about to speed away in embarrassment when Liam grabs his wrist.

“Uhh… well… um I quite like your hair, to be honest,” he stutters out.

Louis lets out a nervous laugh, eyes wide as if he’s afraid he’d misheard. “You do?”

“I do,” Liam replies with an anxious grin. “And for the record, we aren’t dating.” he gestures between him and Niall. “Good friends is all.”

Liam is still holding Louis’ wrist between gentle fingers, and when it’s apparent neither are going to move an inch anytime soon, Niall awkwardly clears his throat. Louis snaps out of his trance and immediately lowers his voice, lips back to his usual flirty smile as he shakes his arm away and instead grabs Liam’s hand with his own smoothly.

“Well uh, I’m sorry, we’ve never officially met,” he starts. “I’m Louis.”

“Liam.”

Niall darts his eyes between the two and when they just continue to stare like fools at each other, he stands up and brushes off his jeans.

“Well I’m Niall, but obviously that’s not of any importance to anyone. I’m going to go order a drink, Liam, is that all right?” Niall sighs when he gets no reply and excuses himself.

Harry’s smile falls off his face when he sees Niall head over and in a rush he shoves Nick unceremoniously away from the counter, clearing his throat and attempting to look cool. He’s done this a thousand times, and it’s remarkable how every time manages to feel like the first.

Niall doesn’t even see him at first, because he’s raised his eyes to the overhead menu and Harry allows this time to take in the glow of Niall’s white, white skin in the morning light that pierces the glass windows. Niall doesn’t take his eyes from the menu as he orders a skim latte, and when he does, his blue eyes do a double take and fills with something that looks like love. Harry’s heart jumps painfully to somewhere at the back of his throat because this is it. He doesn’t believe his luck because Niall has finally fallen in love with him, and he didn’t even try this time around. He’s just about over the moon when Niall opens his mouth and crushes all his hopes.

“Oh wow! Do you guys bake these?” Niall eyes are alight and beams in a way that sort of knocks Harry’s world off its axis. Harry turns and his stomach drops in disappointment because behind him sits the shelf of his pride and joy. Twelve cupcakes sit, frosted and soft.

“Uh, yeah,” he replies, brushing back his curls. “I do in fact.”

“I’ll take two!” Niall chirps and Harry smiles fondly because he’s so cute when he’s excited, and he’ll never tire of the blonde’s happiness.

“Louis’ been obsessed for the past week,” Harry continues conversationally as he places the order. “I’ve never seen him so genuinely endeared to someone. I’ve heard far too much about the shape of Liam’s arse for my liking. But Liam’s good for him, he’s really softened those sharp edges.”

Niall lets out a breathy laugh, throwing his head back as he hands over money.

Harry can feel Niall’s gaze on him as he counts the coins. “Seeing as your friend has already taken my seat, it looks like sooner or later we’ll be getting to know each other. I’m Niall, though you might have heard already.”

Harry dimples with a smile and holds out his hand.

“Harry Styles, at your service,” he replies and Niall’s just about to laugh again when a pair of tell-tale heavily tattooed arms wrap around from behind the blonde, pulling him against another.

Harry closes his eyes briefly in defeat because he’d be a fool to think he wouldn’t come. He’s lived this moment enough times to know that at exactly 7:40 AM on the 1st of January, Niall would be once again swept away from his grasp. He allows himself an awkward smile as Niall’s eyes seem to lighten another few shades until it reflects the shallow pools of the beach, and his pearly white smiles grows ever wider.

“Ni, you wouldn’t be flirting with the local barista would you?” The rich voice chuckles into Niall’s ear. “A classic romance, really.”

And just like that Niall has forgotten Harry because like every other godforsaken time they’ve met, Harry seems to forget that it’s Zayn Malik Niall’s in love with and not Harry Styles. But this is the month, he tells himself. This is the month it’s all going to change. Niall turns leisurely around and delivers a quick peck to Zayn’s cheek, smiling into the skin there as he whispers a secret into Zayn’s ear that has the older tattooed boy beaming with both rows of his perfect teeth. Niall trails kiss after kiss until he lands a soft one on Zayn’s lips. Harry watches him mouth ‘I’d never leave you, you idiot,’ against Zayn’s lips and feels his heart crack a little in his chest.

But it’s okay, because Harry’s felt it before. His heart’s been broken a billion times by the same blonde-haired, bright-eyed boy. This month however will be different. Zayn loosens his hold on Niall’s tiny waist to wave a hand at Harry.

“Hey mate, sorry about that. Ni here is just a little excited to see me.” He grins as Niall elbows him.

Niall makes quick introductions and Harry has to will himself to not crush Zayn’s hand in his own as he gives it a shake. Harry knows himself to be not a bad looker (if the poor girls leaving numbers under salt shakers is proof enough) but Zayn looks fresh out of a glossy magazine, and Niall has always had a thing for dangerous men with cuddly personas. Where Niall is all light, blonde and pale beauty Zayn is chocolate tan, endless inky eyelashes, vague tattoos and quiffed hair. He looks deceptively dangerous (but he is) yet under the leather jacket Niall is reassuring him he’s just a big softie. Harry believed him the very first time, however many lifetimes that was ago.

There are no customers (they’ve passed the rush hour) so Niall and Zayn stay to leisurely talk, the latte long cooling on the counter. Yet they talk mainly to each other, and Harry gracelessly third wheels.

“Well would you look at that,” Niall chirps, with a gesture towards the far table where Louis is expressively retelling a story and Liam only stares, as if awed to be in his presence. “Liam has completely forgotten he’s meant to treat me to a drink, the arse.”

They don’t talk for much longer because Zayn’s carrying a heavy locked suitcase in his hands and Niall’s latte is truly cold now, but they exchange numbers and Niall leaves with Harry’s neat scrawl on his forearm. Harry watches them go, eyes trained on that damn suitcase that has already shattered his heart too many times to count. He knows its contents, and he’s determined to change the path of Fate’s wretched journey, one last time.

\---

It’s been a week and Niall hasn’t turned up once. Harry’s starting to get worked up because every time their second encounter is three days from their first, five at the most. He’s terrified that this time around their first meeting is their last, and he doesn’t even get a chance to try.

Louis drags him out on the 9th of January for the huge party that’s being thrown for Liam’s 20th, because Harry’s been ‘a mopey pain in the arse’ and Louis won’t allow himself to be associated with such a tool.  
  
To Louis’ shock Harry burns himself with scolding water at the idea and just about whoops in joy because he’s almost forgotten Liam’s 20th in all his despair. Harry feels it in his bones. Niall’s bound to be there. He changes his dress shirt six times (he’s only got one pair of pants) and brushes his curls up and down. He eventually tosses it up brazenly into a tall quiff, though this has nothing to do with the fact Zayn does his hair so. He rolls up the sleeves and bares every tattoo he has before throwing his blazer on and even attempts Zayn’s smouldering gaze in his bathroom mirror.

As Louis drives (more like speeds) them to Liam’s annoyingly huge house (‘Not just a mansion, Harry,’ Louis rather snottily corrected. ‘An estate.’), the knot in his stomach tightens because his friend is so in love and really neither of them deserve such heartbreak. The estate is dazzled with fairy lights, maids and cleaners bustling about with slim glasses of cultured wine. Louis adopts that dopey smile of his again as he prattles on about how nice Liam’s parents are and how he can’t believe his luck. Harry runs his head over and over through catch-lines and opening greetings as if this is his first chance at love (it isn’t).

So of course, when he actually sees Niall, he loses all capability of speech.

“Wey! It’s Harry Styles!”

Niall’s brogue drift past the ridiculous orchestra that’s playing as he spots him, and he excuses himself from another two people, who Harry know all too well. It’s the couple who call Niall their beloved golden son and it hurts Harry to look them in the eye. They smile at Harry unknowingly and drift away to engage with Liam’s parents. And Harry’s all too familiar with this ache in this dead heart of his when Niall pulls him into a warm, soft embrace, whispering a ‘good to see you’ in his ear. Zayn is nowhere to be seen and Harry is just about ascending to cloud nine.

“Where Zayn?”

Niall’s cheerful expression drops. Despite the hope that bubbles in his chest Harry reaches out a hand to rest upon Niall’s shoulder.

“You can tell me. I’ll listen.”

Niall’s blue, blue eyes snap up to scrutinise him and he releases a breath. Harry knows Niall well enough to know that he’s definitely not in the state to talk and instead tightens his clasp on the blonde’s shoulder.

“… or we can get piss-arse drunk and escape this madness?”

Niall cracks him a smile. “I like the sound of that.”

\---

“He asks too much. When am I going to inherit the company, why is my father doing this, where am I going now,” Niall is so obviously drunk, and he sways against the marble statue he’s leaning on, words slurred. His shoulder slump. “You know sometimes I wonder if he’s in love with me, or whether I’m a fool to believe he’s not in it for my parent’s wealth. I just fell in love so fast that I barely got a foothold before I tumbled in.”

Harry folds his blazer over an arm, heart clenching because he’s not entirely sure he wants to hear how they fell in love.

“I love him,” Just like that, a knife through Harry’s hopes. “I love him so much, and I just want us to work out. But I feel lenient, sometimes far too much so. I turn a blind eye on so many things, his past, his family, his job…”

Harry tenses as Niall trails off. It seems that even in such an inebriated state Niall keeps Zayn’s secret tucked away within his bones.

“What about his job?” Harry gently pries.

Niall’s face contorts, his eyes widen and he worries his pink lips red between two rows of perfect teeth. His breaths quicken and Harry knows he’s pushed too far.

“Niall. Niall, stop, it’s okay if you don’t want to te– ”

“It’s getting late,” Niall abruptly bursts. “I… I’m just. I’ll be… I’m just going to go. Yeah.”

Harry watches his figure, a black silhouette silver-lined with the warm glow of the mansion, as he hurries back and away from the gardens.

A trail of eager fireflies follow after him, and Harry can’t help but feel as if he’s lost him again. In blind anger he lets out a growl of pent up frustration, fisting his blazer and forcing wrinkles in with his self-loathing. He so often forgets that Niall doesn’t actually know him, not in the way he knows Niall. To Niall they are virtually strangers, and he hasn’t yet tasted Harry’s laugh, dipped the tips of fingers into dimples, or whispered endearments as they nudged noses and memorised the hard planes of one another’s bodies. No, not yet.

You see every time Harry meets Niall, it’s the same place, same month, same day but each time it’s unique, and they say different things and meet at different places. It’s as if Fate is squeezing in their lifetime’s worth of experiences into every replayed month, to make up for the lost moments and lives they could have lived. And it’s a beautiful experience, to fall so many times in love with someone who you feel brings you closer to heaven, yet it’s treacherous too.

Because Harry doesn’t get forever with Niall, not really.

He doesn’t get to marry him, hit a 10th anniversary or grow old together and kiss each other’s weariness away, no. Harry is stuck, running circles and so is Niall, and it’s for Niall that he’s made up his mind to break them out of this. It’s all for him.  
\---  
Niall doesn’t talk to him for an entire five days.

It’s the 15th of January and Harry is in despair, because he’s got thirty-one days in total and almost half are gone. He’s in bed, it’s 2AM in the morning and he’s pathetically trying to concoct some remarkable yet plausible way for them to meet so Niall can fall head over heels in love with him. He’s trying so hard that he hasn’t even showered since the party, and he’s eaten stale fruit loops with spotted bananas for the last three days. He hasn’t enough fingers and toes to count the number of times his finger has hovered precariously over Niall’s number. He’s just dismissed another ridiculous idea (Niall trips and Harry miraculously dives and catches him in a dip aha!) when out of the blue his phone bursts out into song.

“Fucking Louis,” he mutters in an angrily-fond way as he blearily fumbles for his phone. “Liam’s spoilt him rotten he’s lost even the sense of time…”

He raises the phone blindly to his ear.

“Oi, it’s two in the morning and if this is about Liam I want to hear none of it!”

There’s silence when he’s startled by a familiar laugh that’s very much Irish and NOT Louis. It’s followed by a few hiccups and Harry realises Niall is obviously heavily intoxicated.

“Oh mate, is that how you greet everyone? I should call you more often!”

“You’ve never called, Niall…”

“Well shit, don’t guilt trip me now,” Niall slurs and Harry hopes he’s somewhere safe because Niall is so far gone his words are hardly intelligible.

Niall rambles for god knows how long about his day and Harry just presses the phone closer to his ear, so maybe it would sound like Niall is whispering directly to him. Niall’s voice suddenly becomes small and vulnerable as he quietens, before talking again but this time in a far more subdued voice.

“Oh, Harry, I’m just so sad all the time.”

Harry sits up straighter.

“Why are you sad, Niall? Tell me why…”

“I got back with Zayn,” Niall hiccups. “But… I’ll tell you a secret, Harry. Zayn treats me so, so bad. Day by day I wait, come back from work to an empty house and sleep in an even emptier bed. And I never question it, do I Harry? No, never. But you see, Harry, I’m not the blind fool he may take me to be. Often I have a hit of coffee and lie awake a whole night, and sniff some of that cocaine Zayn loves to keep myself alert. And he returns, at the break of day. Do you know it’s then I see his hands caked with blood?”

Harry’s breath catches because Niall has always known, but never has he told Harry this, not even at those times when they were a hair’s breadth away from falling in love.

“And he washes them in my mother’s sink, the bastard! I don’t know his job, but I keep his secrets, and there are so very many of them. He loves me, he does, but every once in a while, when I lie awake in solitude, I ask myself: is he a hit-man? Was he paid to love me?”

And Harry realises just how close they are right now but Niall barrels on.

“Sheer folly to contemplate because I know he loves me, but I worry. What if one day he just doesn’t return at all?”

‘Oh, Niall,’ Harry thinks. ‘That’s the last thing you have to worry about.’

\---

Harry goes out of his way to bump into Niall after that, and vice-versa, so of course Fate would have it that they don’t meet once until almost an entire two weeks later.

Because unlike Harry, whose whole world and conscience is bent on Niall, Niall has a job to maintain, a company to soon inherit and no idea that he’s been stuck in a circle of time.

It’s the 28th of January and Harry’s in despair because four days left and Niall is no more in love with him than the day they first met. He’s resigned to live another month again, not like he has any choice or something ridiculous like that. He’s broodily watching a muted television, shovelling fruit loops furiously into his mouth. Amidst the spoon clacking painfully against his teeth Harry’s eyes brim with tears because he knows what happens on the 31st of January, he knows and even after all these circles, it still hurts.

A frantic knock comes at his door and he almost falls over in shock when he opens it and Niall all but launches at him.

It’s perhaps not the most fluid of their kisses (and there are many to consider) but it’s Niall and Harry will never tire of this. Niall has his long fingers twisted in Harry’s curls, pink lips sliding against the taller boy’s as he grips at the brunette’s loose jumper. Harry slams Niall against the closed door in his eagerness, mouthing at the revealed pale neck to leave a trail of red roses up to his jawline. Niall merely moans softly, eyes fluttering shut as his chestnut eyelashes fan across his cheeks, wet with tears.

Harry hoists him up with a hand cupping the curve of Niall’s arse, as their mouths align and Niall finally swallows the breathy laugh that escapes Harry’s kiss-worn lips. Without second thought, mind clouded by longing, they stumble; laughing, kissing and tumbling their way to the bedroom. Only when Harry finally has Niall sprawled, wanton across his sheets, does he realise the fat tears rolling down Niall’s flushed cheeks, pooling at where his collarbones join.

Harry thumbs them away, and redraws, causing Niall to whine and grapple at him.

“Niall… you’re upset. Don’t degrade yourself this way…” he mutters, struggling to tame his own aching desire. “You’re not yourself.”

“I am myself,” Niall all but growls. “And I know you feel this too. I’ve tried remaining selfless but for once I’m putting myself first. I’m not a married woman bound to keep her silence so do not treat me like one!”

Harry watches the small blonde dissolve into bitter, restrained tears and reaches out to him, only to have his hands batted away. He feels his own frustration boil in the pit of his stomach.

“I can’t do this, Niall, for both of us. You’re looking for someone to vent your anger, and I refuse to take advantage and debase you in such a way. And I won’t do this to myself, to fuel my own unrequited sentiments” With this Harry looks away in shame.

“Harry…” Gentle hands tilt his face to see blue eyes. “Harry, understand when I say they are not unrequited.”

Harry smiles, a smile that hurts his face because he’s relived this life so many times, to wait for this. Slowly, ever so slowly they pulled off each other’s clothes, revelling in each other. Harry rests Niall on his back and bends the blonde’s knees, taking a second to commit this moment to memory; Niall in his gentle glory, lithe limbs and light muscles shifting as the setting sun bathes them in warm auburn, lighting a fire in their lantern hearts. He sinks his fingers into the blonde’s mouth and finally into his heat. For the first time in all his circles they move in sync, to rise and fall together, and he feels the velvet walls that clamp around him like a vice. In the aftermath they lie, utterly spent, facing each other, all quiet smiles and unspoken promises.

Harry takes forever as he maps out the soft freckles on the bridge of Niall’s nose, and watches their hair entwine on the pillow.

“Tell me, when was it you fell in love with me?” Harry asks jokingly, startled when Niall actually replies.

“When I saw you, on the 1st if January at the counter, and I had to make a silly remark about the cakes behind you because I was so star-struck. It was your eyes. I strangely felt… as if we’d met before? Or as if I was meant to meet you at that very moment.” Niall chuckles softly. “…and what about you, Romeo?”

“Me?” Harry’s speechless, because what is there to say? “I’ve lost count of the days…”

\---

Niall spends two whole days, swaddled with blankets and chips in Harry’s house with him, and Harry receives one furious (but deserved) call from Nick (‘Where the fuck are you?! Do I look like I have four hands to you?’ he’d shouted. ‘Get Louis to help!’ Harry stuttered in reply. ‘Louis? Don’t make me laugh!’). Harry is curled around Niall on the sofa-bed they’ve pulled out and he’s dropping popcorn kernels all over Niall’s hair. Harry’s tingly all over because Niall’s in this giant black sweater of Harry’s that reaches mid-thigh, and he’s wearing absolutely nothing beneath it.

“Harry, where the fuck are you? Nick’s all over my ass and not in the fun way! And he’s making me actually work!”

Niall eyes the phone in Harry’s hand sceptically, nose crinkling.

“Harry get off the phone, whoever’s yakking is distracting me from the movie…” Niall mutters.

“Woah, the fuck is that an Irish brogue I hea–” Louis is rudely cut off as Harry ends the call abruptly, settling down to tuck his chin back in soft blonde hair.

\---

Harry watches Niall in the other room, whispering frantically into the phone, but all he think about is that it’s the 31st of January and this is the day.

“Zayn, just listen…”

“The hell I will! Where are you, Ni? Where have you been? I’ve been worried sick…”

Harry hears Niall pause before meekly continuing.

“…you have?”

“Of course, Ni, I love you. Why wouldn’t I be worried? Look have you forgotten where you’re meant to be? Does the word inheritance or the name Liam Payne ring a bell?”

“Zayn, of course I remember. I got my tux dry-cleaned yesterday.”

“I’m going to go pick you up from wherever you’re at, so just stay put, ‘kay Ni?”

Niall almost drops his phone.

“What? No! Don’t worry! I’m getting sent by… a friend.”

Harry rests his forehead against his wall as he looks towards his wardrobe where his ironed three-piece hangs. He’s lived the 31st of January enough times to know what will happen at the end of the day, and that suit has sat there for this moment since the beginning of the month. But this time, this time will be different. This time he’ll right his wrongs.

\---

“Harry stop running circles around me, it’s driving me mad! We’ve got to go find Zayn!”

“You never know who might be targeting a young inheritor,” Harry whispered nervously into Niall’s ear. Niall shoves him with a laugh.

“Harry, don’t be absurd. Besides, this is Liam’s inheritance. If anyone’s in trouble it’s him.” Niall huffs. “Where is Zayn?”

‘You won’t find him,’ Harry thinks forlornly. ‘No one will later.’

Harry manoeuvres them both through the throng of women in gowns, and he watches the large hand of the clock ever closely, waiting for 10:00PM on the 31st of January. He finds them a quiet, discrete and hidden corner, pulling an excited Niall towards him and away from sight. Liam’s parents stand proudly beside Niall’s on the raised podium of the main hall, as Liam ascends the stairs. Harry tunes out in favour of watching the clock, because he’s seen this far too many times and he doesn’t want to hear Louis when it happens.

Time hits 10:00PM and a single bullet embeds itself like clockwork into the embroidery of Liam’s blazer and he crumbles, his parents soon following.

Another two shots follow the first three and plant themselves, with a frightening surgical accuracy, into the side of Niall’s mother and father’s skull. Bodyguards run around in frenzy.

And Harry’s head is still ringing with the shots and everythings numb, the scrambling and terror of the guests are a faint echo because the one he hears clearest is Louis. He has recklessly ascended the stairs, pulling Liam’s head into his lap as he cries ‘Help! Someone please help him!’. Louis’ too blinded by shock and misery to even check for the pulse Harry knows isn’t there. Louis is yelling and fisting Liam’s shirt, his hands too bleeding red but Harry cannot help him, and he will not. Only watches bodyguards haul him away from the scene and Louis loses all fight, being towed along and out of sight.

Niall is struggling in Harry’s grip, not to escape but to run to the podium where his parents are lying, still and deceptively tranquil in a pool of red that seeps into the rich carpet.

“Niall! Stop it, we have to get out! You idiot, I am trying to save you! We cannot stay here!” Harry wraps his arms around Niall’s waist, and all but begins dragging him away, but Niall’s will seems stronger and he claws at Harry, cursing him and begging.

But Niall lets out a cry of unadulterated relief as an emerging figure descends down from the second floor, and he breaks free of Harry’s arms.

“Zayn?”

Zayn smiles anxiously and beckons.

“Come, Ni. We have to get out of here, you and me. It’s not safe for you here.”

“But Zayn… what about my parents? And Liam? Louis says he needs help.”

“No, Niall!” Harry shouts and Zayn’s eyes snap towards him and narrow. “Liam’s dead! We can’t help him. Come with me.”

Zayn scoffs.

“He’s right,” Zayn casually says, pulling his handgun from his belt, and points it unwaveringly to the centre of Niall’s forehead. “Harry’s always been a smart one haven’t you, Harry?”

Niall has backed up until the warmth of his back meets Harry’s arm and he’s whispering a mantra of soft disbelief. His blue eyes are wide and their dimming into a dead grey-blue, reflecting something that looks a lot like heartbreak.

“Don’t do it, Zayn, you’re better than this. Spare him.” Harry’s plea falls upon deaf ears.

“And do what? Kill you?” Zayn barks a short laugh. “I take who is in my contract and no one else. You think I’m a savage? That I kill for sport? No, I’m for hire, you fool! That’s right, Ni, listen carefully because little is real in a world where rich scum like your father refuse to pay their debts, and another man demands their head. I’ve seen families rise and fall, but I don’t get paid until every head is accounted for, do you understand? Do you think this is easy for me?”

Niall has his hands over his ears but Harry knows he’s listening. He’s listening because he can see Zayn’s face and every river the man’s tears have run down his flawless face. They pool at his chin and hit his fingers that quiver at the trigger.

“All those nights you returned, I thought you did so quietly for a reason!” Niall’s shaking now, entire body trembling as he shakes Harry’s hands off himself. “That you kept your wretched job from my parents and from me, for the sake of our consciences. I just never imagined that we were just a job to you!”

“You were not just a job!” Zayn bellowed back, the veins in his neck protruding. “Not you. Don’t ever call yourself that… Remember last December when I carried you back home on New Year’s Eve? Because the chill of falling snow brought those aches in your knee that pained you to no end, and in turn pained me. Do you remember the way we’d fallen and laughed because we couldn’t imagine being any happier? Do you remember? Because I do. Didn’t I love you them, Niall? Tell me I didn’t, and I’ll believe you…”

“Zayn, stop,” Niall’s voice is weak now, breaking and trembling. “I don’t want to hear this. This isn’t important, not now.”

“Well it’s important to me! Because I also remember grovelling at my father’s feet, a pitiful disgrace of a son as I begged for him to let me just keep you. You’d wormed your way into my bones and planted these delusions in my head, had me thinking of a modest house, a desk job and having you safe! I’d spent an entire autumn and half a winter with you, and I’d realised I didn’t want to spend spring or summer with anyone else. I’m so fucking sorry, Ni, for being the coward I am...”

The sound of quick approaching footsteps has Zayn pull the trigger with his hands over his eyes, sobs wracking his tall lethal frame.

Harry’s lived through this all before, you see. But it’s only this time around that he understands why he’s trapped as the nineteen year-old boy who perpetually continues to fall in love with the same person.  
  
He cannot save Niall, not for himself. Harry guesses his body moves on his own accord, because there’s this blinding pain in his upper stomach area not far from where his heart is nestled, and it’s on fire. It’s spilling warm hot blood and there are feeble hands pressing over the wound. He hears Zayn flee and security guards flood the room too late, but he doesn’t see them. His eyes are on the biggest prize, which he realises no one was really meant to win. Niall’s leaning over him and Harry attempts a watery smile, blindly grasping his hand like a lifeline. Harry pulls Niall down on top of him, allows Niall’s warmth against his wound and feels content.

“Do you have any idea how many times you have introduced yourself to me? How many times Louis and Liam have fallen in love?” Niall looks baffled but realisation seems to sink in somewhere behind those cerulean pools.

“Don’t speak, Harry. Just lie still and stay with me…” but Niall’s face is already blurring and his voice has echoed off too. Harry continues blindly, because he needs Niall to hear it.

“On the 28th of January you said you’d felt as if we’d met before and we have; countless times, without end or beginning. I don’t even remember the first time I saw you, but it must have been something marvellous, because my heart still skips a beat every January you walk through the front door. I knew the guns that lay in Zayn’s suitcase that day. And every month I wish myself dizzy for you to fall in love with me just once. I got sick thinking how I could possess and preserve you, keep you to myself and it was all I ever thought about. But time won’t begin until I let you go. Time stops for no one but it sure stopped for us, didn’t it, Niall?”

The grey veil of night falls and the date flips to the first of February, a phenomena that hasn’t occurred for years uncounted. In a quiet estate, six bodies are covered in white and laid to rest.

“I’m just so glad I got to fall in love with you, over and over again.”

\---


End file.
